


Transparency

by Iwantthatcoat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Non-con/dub-con, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-13 21:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat
Summary: This is a fill for prompt 149 from sherlockkinkmeme: "During their night of wandering and true confessions and chips and suicide counseling, Sherlock and “Faith” have sex. It feels fun and non-coercive at the time, they both enjoy it. Then he deduces/learns who she really is - how does he feel about this? How does it color their relationship going forward, such as it is? Any sort of interaction between them with that backdrop of incest that was accidental on his part but not on hers."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for prompt 149 from sherlockkinkmeme: "During their night of wandering and true confessions and chips and suicide counseling, Sherlock and “Faith” have sex. It feels fun and non-coercive at the time, they both enjoy it. Then he deduces/learns who she really is - how does he feel about this? How does it color their relationship going forward, such as it is? Any sort of interaction between them with that backdrop of incest that was accidental on his part but not on hers."

"Ooohhh, have you had sex?"

"Why do you ask?" 

Even though he continues to play his own composition, he assesses her with a scrutiny that comes just shy of spotting her previous disguise. If Sherlock does, in fact, see it, he does not yet believe. Baskerville has taught him this. More data is advisable. It could still be any number of alternate possibilities. Hallucinated pseudorealities.

"The music. _I've_ had sex."

Sherlock's bow slips out of alignment. He corrects the angle before it can tumble over the bridge, catch against the string wrapping, make a delicate screech.

"How?"

"One of the nurses got careless." For a brief moment, he is unsure if it was rape... On its heels is yet another uncertainty as to who would have been the victim and who the perpetrator. He lacks sufficient context. The presence of surveillance cameras and her smile pushes him toward a conclusion. "I liked it, messy though, people are so breakable. I've done it twice, actually." She smiles again. It isn't exactly a fond gesture, but it is far from remorseful.

"I take it he didn't consent."

"He?!"

"She."

"Afraid I didn't notice in the heat of the moment, and afterwards, well, you couldn't really tell; is that vibrato or is your hand shaking?"

Sherlock stops playing. Having a Stradivarius in his hands is a powerful incentive, but the music has already given far too much away.

"I found out that the first time didn't count; I broke the _rules_ , rules are _confusing_. When I was given computer access again I had to do faster research, find all that I'd missed. Apparently, you're supposed to both _want_ it. They should have made that more clear. And sex is also meant to be with someone you like." Her smile was warmer now. "The second time was definitely a he, and I liked him. Beautiful eyes."

John. The woman on the bus. How had she gotten to John?

"Women are supposed to like eyes. And a good sense of humour. Some might have been lying in the articles, found it embarrassing to say what they like best is a rounded arse and a thick cock, I've nothing near an adequate sample size to propose modifications. But... he was funny, he thought I was funny, I loved it when he laughed. And he was-- sweet. Nice."

Something about her words. How had Faith described the way he thought? _Sweetly_ And her other comment regarding him? _Not what I expected. You're nicer._ Sherlock looks at her again. His gut reaction ( _no, she wouldn't have_ ) is short-lived. Of course she would have done-- she has no sense of morality or propriety. By Mycroft's account Eurus had killed his dog, threatened to kill him, burned down the ancestral estate (Mycroft was not always to be believed--he certainly had his own agenda-- but this seemed credible)... Still, Sherlock resists the seemingly obvious conclusion. 

It was, after all, easy to cling to his time with Faith as a product of his imagination. The entire evening had been beautiful. They'd shared chips and laughter, they'd pissed off Mycroft together, he'd even felt as if he had a purpose again-- after having saved her life. When they'd finished their little word game and arrived back at 221B, the kiss had been easy and carefree (everything that was missing from his permanently one-sided relationship with John). Their falling into bed together had been the most natural thing in the world.

"As I said, the first time doesn't count, it was a crime. But I was already in prison, how much difference does it make? The second time might not count either, I'm not sure. How can I be certain if someone else wants to have sex? You know the answer."

Sherlock clears his throat, but the words still feel stuck, artificial. "I'm sure if you watch his or her non-verbal signals and confirm it with discussion if you are at all uncertain--"

She paces within the confines of the cell and throws up her hands. "No! No!! No!!! You don't know the answer.... _You_... _know _the _answer_!"__

__John is suddenly speaking in his ear:  
"Sherlock."_ _

__"Not now."_ _

__"Vatican cameos."_ _

__"In a minute."_ _

__Sherlock tosses the earpiece aside._ _

__As he turns his full attention back to her, Eurus has already regained her composure. "Let's continue. Did they tell you to keep three feet from the glass?"_ _

__"Yes"_ _

__"Be naughty, step closer." The smile conveys pure, delighted mischief._ _

__"Why?"_ _

__"Do it. Step closer."_ _

__She wants this badly. He refuses to move without gaining something significant in return. "Tell me what you remember."_ _

__"You, me, and Mycroft. Mycroft was quite clever. He could understand things if you went a bit slow, but you... you were my favourite!"_ _

__"Why was I your favourite?"_ _

__"Because I could make you laugh. I loved it when you laughed. Once, I made you laugh all night... I thought you were going to burst, I was so happy. Then Mummy and Daddy had to stop me of course."_ _

__"Why?"_ _

__"Well.... turns out I'd got it wrong-- apparently, you were screaming."_ _

__"Why was I screaming?" Sherlock knows why. "Redbeard. I remember Redbeard."_ _

__"Do you, now?" Clearly, she implies that he does not._ _

__"Tell me what I don't know."_ _

__"Touch the glass."_ _

__"Redbeard was my dog. I know what happened to Redbeard."_ _

__"Oh, Sherlock, you know nothing! Touch the glass and I'll tell you the truth. I'll touch it too if you're scared." Her tone strikes an odd balance which teeters between compassionate and mocking. It makes him even more hesitant. "You think it's a trick. You look so unsure... you're not used to being unsure, are you?"_ _

__Sherlock's mouth quirks downward. "It's more common than you'd think."_ _

__"Look at you. The man who sees through everything is exactly the man who doesn't notice when there's nothing to see through." She reaches through where the glass should have been and grasps his hand. The contact is completely unexpected, but not the only reason he is startled. "Do you see how it was done, I know you like explanations."_ _

__"Signs. You suspended the signs."_ _

__"And you are still suspending them. All the signs." She waits a moment to gauge his response. "Your mind is a loose thread caught on a snag. You needed to know how it was done first, didn't you? My voice? Throat mic. Puts me through the speakers. Don't you think it's clever? Simple, but clever."_ _

__"Transparent," he says, as if wry humour will provide some form of defense._ _

__"Well, you do keep asking me how I got out of here. Like... this." Eurus slams her hands against his temples and tackles him to the floor in her rage, straddling him. "Well, now, my dear, forgetful brother... does this position refresh your memory?"_ _


	2. Chapter 2

When Sherlock awakens, his mind is crisp. She hadn't drugged him, then-- merely restricted airflow until he lost consciousness-- so not much time has passed. That he is still alone in this glass enclosure means every guard is either under her control, unconscious or dead. He vaguely recalls Eurus asking to be restrained to prevent her killing him, so, she must have... plans. John and Mycroft would likely be joining him in this cell soon, for whatever she has in store for the three of them. The only other one no longer has a front panel. His lips twitch involuntarily at the memory of his own idiocy. He had allowed himself to be so overwhelmed by new data that he had overlooked the obvious. It is good to be alone for now, even if it means being imprisoned. He has a lot to process.

The reality must be acknowledged. He has unknowingly slept with his sister, a fate worthy of Greek tragedy. He closes his eyes as if he could somehow open them and awaken from this twisted dream, but once they're shut he is bombarded with images of her body rocking against his as he runs his hands over her breasts and stomach and settles finally on her hips, grasping them as he drives himself deeper inside her. Even now, knowing full well who she is, he can't prevent himself from hardening at the sense memory. He isn't sure if he should be mortified by his response. After all, these things are purely biological, and... he hadn't known who she was then...? No, no, of course not... he didn't remember ever having had a sister. Only, yes, he did. Some part of his consciousness must have retained the memory.

She had taught him the violin. She had killed his faithful companion. She had been the only person who had earned the title of 'lover' instead of 'experiment'. Each time Sherlock had shown his deeply emotional, sensitive side it was, in some way, connected to Eurus.

The point of the incest taboo is to prevent the blending of two contradictory roles. Mycroft would always be his overbearing brother. No other role could ever suit him. Try as he might, when Sherlock envisions Eurus-- even dressed in white, insisting he not play Bach (not the other image of her moaning and clutching at his hair)-- he still does not see her as his sister. What he sees is the woman he had been trying to save... _is_ trying to save. And she is still dredging his emotions to the surface, even as he struggles to determine a precise role for her. Surely, that requires some sort of unique connection on a subconscious level; no ordinary woman, no matter how fascinating, is capable of that feat. Whether he remembers her or not, whether he is struck by the Westermarck effect or remains unaffected-- she still is, who she is. He waits to feel the waves of disgust, of revulsion. None come.

There is the sound of a creaking door and a locking mechanism engaging and the governor stumbles in. He has somehow betrayed her. Sherlock eyes him briefly to confirm the deduction, and then ignores his presence entirely.

What had been her purpose, in getting so very close? Was she simply not aware it was unacceptable? She had been whisked away to a holding cell at far too young an age to have been taught anything about sexuality, or appropriate and inappropriate behaviour. Mycroft had denied her even so much as a psychological evaluation, so she could only know either what she had already understood at age five or had taught herself since-- using anything at her disposal. Her goal must have been to determine if Sherlock were still the slow little boy who wouldn't play with her, worthy of condemning to death, or if he had changed. He had changed. Many times, in fact, over the years. He cared even more now, though he still was hesitant to outwardly express that concern. She had witnessed this.

Was sex part of the test? Did he pass or did he fail? Was he to be commended for seeing her as beautiful, worthwhile, someone to share such a vulnerable moment with? Was it merely an exchange for any useful information? Did she even...see him as having used her? He couldn't see it that way (he hadn't done), but any education she had had regarding sexuality would have been comprised of sound bites steeped in popular culture, viewed through a lens warped by a lifetime of isolation. In weighing this possibility, Sherlock felt a nearly overwhelming sadness-- when suddenly all sympathy came to a screeching halt. 

She had known-- and he had not. 

She had been well aware he was her brother, and had chosen not only to hide the fact but to disregard the complications. He was never given that choice. _He_ had been used. She knew, used him to get what she wanted...for whatever purpose. To know him? To judge him?

Was he... is he a victim? Undoubtedly. It was an intimate relationship where she had concealed vital information that might have caused him to refuse her. _Might have_. He smiled at his own openness with himself. Irrelevant. She had the knowledge and withheld it. He would never have led someone to such an intimate place cloaked in deception. No. Lying to one's self is always counterproductive. He had already done so. With Janine. In much the same way, he is Eurus's case-- which she will go to any lengths to solve.

 

How much of this relationship was with Eurus and how much with "Faith"? Were they one and the same? Faith's arms, with their systematic cuts-- those were Eurus's arms. Was the disguise, as he had once been told, a self-portrait? He had not met the real Faith Smith prior. Their physical appearance had been similar enough, but every bit of her personality was-- there was no _reason_ for that to have been anything but Eurus. Or had he fallen for someone who never truly existed?

Fallen. No, it was not a romance, it was a... fling? He had been off his tits, his defenses lowered, his judgment compromised. Sherlock is all too keenly aware he would have torn apart that assertion had anyone but he suggested it. He had been high, yes, but he had also been in control of his faculties-- the decisions had been his own, not any drug's. He shakes his head and forces away the rationalisations. 

How ridiculous they would have looked to an observer...both of them trying their best to seem as if they were far more experienced...were used to this sort of casual physical act. There was something earnest and joyful about the occasional glimpses of their underlying innocence. The hesitation when their tongues touched. Their careful exploration of the areas each anticipated the other might enjoy most-- still all based upon the theoretical. Their reveling in seeing their partner respond favorably. The sheer joy of scent, touch, taste. Sherlock had thought _that_ had been their secret. That they had both tried to fool each other about their worldliness just enough, and yet had somehow not succeeded at all. And that had all been undeniably good-- in every way. 

It _had_ been Eurus. All of this fury, all her rage... is born of his not remembering, not recognising, not knowing who Eurus is, yet again. 

Now fully cognisant, Sherlock can't help but feel this would be a very good thing to erase. For a brief moment he thinks he owes her the honor of memory (after having forgotten her very existence for so long), but no. He needs this knowledge for his own protection. Any compassion he chooses to show her from this point forward can only go so far before it becomes his own version of self-harm. Oh, they are so very alike, aren't they?

 

A clang and now Mycroft is here, struggling to carefully steady John. Sherlock rises to help his brother and to better assess his friend's condition. John is stumbling, slowly awakening, and, in fact, does shortly after he and Mycroft manage to place him carefully on the bed alongside the far wall.

"How are you?" Sherlock asks John.

"Bit of a lump."

"True, but you have your uses."

John rubs the back of his neck and winces. "Did you see your sister?"

"Yes."

"How was that?"

Sherlock has no idea how to answer. Eventually, he finds something appropriate to say that doesn't feel completely absurd. "Family's always difficult."

With the two of them here (oh, yes, three, the governor is still staring through the glass) his previous train of thought would be impossible to sustain. Sherlock will return to it after he sees what is in store for them next.

Mycroft reminds them of his presence with a very put-upon, "Is this an occasion for banter?"

"Mm. Case in point."

The sound of a phone ringing. Looks like they are ready to begin.


End file.
